


Rock Me

by SupernaturalMystery306



Series: SPN Crack [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bc Dean gets called boy all the time okay, Blanket Cas, Bottom Dean, Castiel changes form, Castiel is a rocking chair hence the title, Chair Castiel, Chair Sex, Crack, Dean is honestly a slut, Dom Castiel, Gets woken up in the middle of the night and proceeds to get fucked, Human Dean, I Don't Even Know, I mean Cas vibrates Dean to an orgasm, I mean Dean likes it, Invisible Castiel, Kidnapping, M/M, Maybe? I guess, Mystery, Pen Castiel, Phone Castiel, Pretty much that, Ring Castiel, Semi-Public Sex, Spirit Castiel, Sub Dean, Top Castiel, Vibrators???, and he doesn’t really put up a fight, because why not, but judging by the tags i think it's pretty obvious, hints of D/s, ish, it's adorable if you don't know how depraved he is, kinda dub-con, kinda not dub-con?? Idk, neither for me nor for my fic, o well subtlely was never in the description, tagging is so hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalMystery306/pseuds/SupernaturalMystery306
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh God,” Dean groaned, and then clamped his lips together, as the movement sped up, finger pistoning in and out of him. When he was sure that he was loose enough, he whispered into the air, “Please, it’s fine. I can take it. Whatever- just- whatever- give it to me.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The voice chuckled, seeming to be coming from near his ear, “Eager little boy. Begging for my cock.”</i>
</p><p>Dean thought it was a fling, just a fun thing they had. He never expected to get tangled up in secrets so dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Setaeru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setaeru/gifts).



> So I have this thing where I think of depraved things and force/beg Setaeru to write them. Although mind you- that doesn’t mean I inspire her to write what she writes. All her stuff is her own and if I inspired her to write stuff she’d probably be writing shit. Or maybe she’d be good anyway? Ugh, I don’t know! But I’m not always successful in forcing/begging so I took matters in my own hands and decided to write this for her.
> 
> Holy fucking fuck, this is dub-con-ish. This is mostly porn without plot, so the plot part of it is stilted and fucked up, I tried my best though.
> 
> Set my pet- OH FUCK, NOOOO- “I wrote this thinking of you.” Remember how we were talking about how much you write? I just found out that I've written 20000 words since Feb, dude. I am a fucked up child.  
> PLEASE GOOGLE "I just found out that I've written 20000 words since Feb, Set. I am a fucked up child." BECAUSE I GOT THE RESULT "Child not doing homework" AND I LOST IT.
> 
> Also there’s a line “the sun hadn’t completely set” and I started snorting. Also, I write the line “what the everloving fuck” so much it’s not even funnayy. You are also warned of poetry. Dean’s hole is a flower, let me tell you that.
> 
> Also, Dean is out of chairacter. Whoops, I meant character. I totes meant character. I didn’t say chairacter at all. That was not a pun at all.

Dean leaned back in the rocking chair, sighing. It was a long day, he had been helping Sammy move into his new house with Jess, and he was tired from lifting all the things.

It was five in the evening, and the sun hadn’t completely set, casting the unlit room in a dull, orange glow.

He was about to doze off when he was suddenly jerked forward. Startled, he looked around. But Sam was nowhere in sight, and he couldn’t have been that sneaky that he’d just be able to push Dean and run off without making a sound.

 _Weird_ , he thought.

As he heard Sam and Jess coming closer, he made to stand up, and then again stumbled as he felt something race up is spine, some sort of a... _vibration_. He grimaced; perhaps all the hard work was finally catching up, and making his tired brain think of weird stuff.

**-x-**

Some hours later, when Dean was about to head home, Sam stopped him.

“Dude, why don’t you just stay here for the night? It’s already 11 o’clock.”

Dean stopped, thought it over. It’s true, it was a bit late, and he had work the next day, _and_ , he was tired....

“Sure, why not?” He replied.

“Cool.” Jess said, smiling. And then she frowned, “We don’t really have any extra bedding right now....”

Dean waved a hand, “It’s fine, you and Sammy can sleep on the bed, I’ll take the chair.” He pointed to the rocking chair. Sure, it was a bit creepy when he had sat on it earlier, but he wasn’t going to worry his brother and Jess.

“But... Okay. It’s just- a bit rickety, Dean. Well, not rickety-rickety, but it _is_ , after all, a _rocking chair_. Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep on it the whole night?”

“ _Yes_ , Samantha, _yes_. Now go sleep!” Sam threw him a bitch face, like always, and spun around and walked away like a drama queen. Jess smiled, and she went after him too.

So, okay. He had to sleep on a rocking chair. No biggie. He just had to make sure that he didn’t rock it so hard in his sleep (and he giggled at this thought) that he’d tip the chair and fall over. Easy peasy fucking lemon squeezy. Isn’t that what the kids said these days? (Maybe without the ‘fucking’ part, though.)

**-x-**

Dean started awake in the middle of the night, when he felt something rubbing insistently against his crotch, almost squeezing it painfully. ( _The good kind of pain_ , a part of his brain whispered.)

What the everloving fuck?!

He struggled, but whatever it was, was just not _letting him go_.

He was about to shout for Sam when a surprised gasp was torn out of him. He was raised off the chair, and his pants were pulled off.

He tried to stay still, the way he was, but his legs were spread and he was turned around on the chair as two invisible hands came around to grope his ass. He mewled, and his head banged against the backrest as he slumped over it.

“Patience, little one.” He heard, and shuddered. Whoever it was, certainly knew how to push his buttons.

“What the- who the-” He tried to speak, but instead more gasps were punched out of him.

He whined as something smooth and cold touched his hole. Was it the finger of the thing on whose lap he was? Was it even the thing’s lap? Dean had so many questions! The finger- he was going to call it the thing’s finger- rubbed against his rim at first, then ever so slowly made its way inside him. Dean panted. The finger was already lubed up so that it would be granted entrance easily, and as it entered him, Dean’s hole opened up like a flower blooming in spring.

“Oh God,” Dean groaned, and then clamped his lips together, as the moment sped up, finger pistoning in and out of him. When he was sure that he was loose enough, he whispered into the air, “Please, it’s fine. I can take it. Whatever- just- _whatever_ \- give it to me.”

The voice chuckled, seeming to be coming from near his ear, “Eager little boy. Begging for my cock.”

And _holy fucking shit_ , how good was the dude? Or thing. Or... whatever! Honestly, his dirty talk actually surpassed Dean’s, and Dean was a sucker for such guys. As the invisible guy continued to mumble sexy shit in his ear, Dean continued to try and stifle his moans. Seriously, Jess or Sam walking in on this would _not_ be cool. He could almost imagine the bitch face Sam would give him, but then cringed at the thought of thinking of Sam while he was about to get pounded by an invisible man.

Without his content, giggles started to spill out of his mouth at the last thought, and Dean swore he was going mad. It would certainly explain _why_ he was in his current situation.

A sharp stab to his prostrate brought him back to the reality, and he whimpered as his head once again lolled forward to rest against the chair. His forehead was beaded with sweat, he realized, as he rubbed a clammy hand over it.

“If you can’t focus on me, if you have nothing to think of other than your _brother-_ ”

“Ew, fuck, no man, don’t even say that. Don’t, just don’t.” After a beat, when the other person said nothing, Dean sighed, “Well, get on with it!”

He received a chuckle in response, “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll comply.”

It was the longest wait ever. It was long enough that Dean thought he had just woken up after dreaming of an imaginary fucker- oh god, his brain needed to stop thinking in those terms, honestly- and that he was alone in the living room of his brother’s new house. But suddenly, he was hoisted up further, and as he watched, a phallic shaped structure came into view.

“Whoa! Is that your cock?! Is it- oh, but why is it black? I mean- not _black-_ black because that’d be racist. No wait, I mean- exactly the _black-_ black kind of cock. Wait... What? What the fuck am I saying?” It wasn’t hard to figure out that Dean was talkative during sex, and that his brain came up with the stupidest questions ever.

He shook for a minute without any explanation, and he belatedly realized that the creature had been laughing silently, “Yes, boy, that is my cock. It’s black because even I’m black.”

 _Well duh_ , he refrained from saying, because it wasn’t actually a ‘duh’ matter. He didn’t even know what the person looked like.

“Now,” Dean perked up as the word was once again breathed in his ear, “You are going to be a good boy and ride me, and I’ll let you come if you follow the rules.”

Dean scrambled, and eventually sank down on the cock, groaning as it dragged against his inner walls.

He waited to get used to the feeling of getting stretched, _gosh the man was big_. Then, within minutes, he was bouncing up and down on it as if his life depended on it.

It might have been his imagination, but he kept hearing little gasps and moans, and it made him proud that he could get a reaction from the person, however small it was.

Suddenly, the angle changed, and that was all it took to get Dean to come. He probably came for an hour or so, or at least that’s what it seemed like, but one could never know in the dark of the night, when there was no clock around, and only a sated brain to be found.

Dean just collapsed on the chair, uncaring of the spurts of come that coated the chair under him, and of his unclothed state.

He drifted off to sleep.

**-x-**

He was shaken awake by Sam at eight in the morning, and it was as if a bucket of cold water was poured over him.

_What the fuck had happened last night? Who was it? Why hadn’t he seen the person? What was that? Had he been dreaming? What the fuck?_

“Dean? Dean? Dude? You okay?” Sam waved a hand in front of his face, and he relaxed. Looking down slightly, he noticed that he was fully clothed. Thank god for small miracles.

“Yeah, fine. Totally fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast along with Jess and Sam.

Unfortunately, they didn’t even have any chairs that were unpacked, so he had to use the rocking chair again. But that was fine. It was a comfortable one.

He was thinking of his dream- he was going to call it a dream, it was too bizarre to be real- when he felt something race up his back.

It was a fleeting touch, but he felt it perfectly. He stilled as he recalled the touch from last night.

 _Oh fuck_ , was all he thought, as the chair started to slightly rock again of its own volition, and eventually increase its pace, while Sam and Jess were four feet away from him.


	2. Rock Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Castielcastielcastiel_ was the only thing that went through his head these days.
> 
> He wanted to do it, no, he _needed_ to do it.
> 
> And that is how Dean Winchester planned a surprise visit to Sam Winchester’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I couldn’t resist writing this. I just had to. I’m sorry.
> 
> Written using these themes from the comments I got. (Thank you for them btw. :D)  
> → Like if Dean visits Sam and Jess again and refuses bedding even though they're fully moved in now so that he can sleep in The Chair. Or if Dean somehow ends up taking The Chair home and sleeping in it every night instead of his bed.  
> → So Cas is black or is he just a shadow??  
> → More "Ghost that possesses chair" rather than "chair itself.'
> 
> Title is actually taken from that One Direction song- Rock Me, which also has the words “rock me again” so you can figure out that I was listening to the song while writing the sequel. Blame the song if this is shitty. XD
> 
> Point out any mishatakes, if there are any, please. I didn’t edit this because I wanted to put it up as soon as I could, lol. Eeeeh, I meant mistakes. ;)

Dean had to do it. He just couldn’t get the chair out of his mind. Ever since the day he had slept over at Sam’s house he had been haunted by the memory of the chair. Castiel, its name was, apparently. He didn’t know how or even _why_ the furniture had ended up in Sam’s possession, but he _needed_ it. The last time he hadn’t even been fully conscious when the chair had had its way with him- and he needed to experience it again to get the full benefit of the, uh, _activities_ that had occurred the last time.

He was still a bit shy about it, and couldn’t really think of the whole incident without blushing and giggling, but he supposed that’s what happened when anyone was fucked by a huge chair-cock.

And oh _fuck_ , he did _not_ need to think of The Chair right now, while he was on his desk in his workplace. He was a damn CEO, he had to appear calm and composed and not think about _sex_ of all things. But he couldn’t help it. _Castielcastielcastiel_ was the only thing that went through his head these days.

He wanted to do it, no, he _needed_ to do it.

And that is how Dean Winchester planned a surprise visit to Sam Winchester’s house.

**-x-**

Sam was surprised to see Dean that night. And maybe guilty too, but Dean wasn’t sure why. Damn it, he hoped to God that they hadn’t somehow got wind of the chair’s sentiency, and got rid of it. Or just got rid of it for no reason.

“Not happy to see me, eh, Sammy?”

His younger brother graced him with another bitch face, and replied, “No, not not-happy. I’m just surprised. Why didn’t you call?”

Oh, yes, why didn’t Dean call? He had asked himself the same question in the afternoon. And he had his answer: he didn’t call because he didn’t know how he was supposed to talk to his brother about a visit of which the ultimate goal was him getting fucked by something Sam owned? It sounded absolutely disgusting. He was already having problems with trying to look Sam in the eye, mostly because he was almost _vibrating_ with excitement. Oh, no, poor choice of words. He was merely shaking. Shivering. Undulating? Oh God, _no_. He had lost his brain, all because of that chair.

He was debating on what to say- perhaps the spontaneous decision had been bad after all, since he hadn’t rehearsed his excuses- when Jess came in for the rescue. “Oh come on, Sam,” she said, “Can’t your brother just pay you a surprise visit?”

Dean nodded vigorously, thanking the heavens for creating Jessica. Perhaps a bit too vigorously though, because Sam narrowed his eyes and replied, “Knowing that it’s Dean, no, I don’t think his intentions are pure.”

“Oh, yeah, _totally_ , and who was the guy who brought back a one night stand to the house when he thought that his brother was out? If my memory hasn’t failed me, that was _you_ Sammy.”

“And what about the time when you called in a bunch of your stripper friends from your stripping days and decided to do body shots in the living room?” Sam hit back.

He would probably have said more embarrassing stuff when Jess once again came to the rescue. “What Sam is trying but failing to say, Dean, is that we had plans tonight. I’m really so sorry, but we got the reservations done months ago. And it seems that your brother stupidly forgot to tell you.”

Oh, so that was the reason for his guilt.

“Never mind,” Dean consoled his brother, because Sam looked _really_ guilty, “It is fine. I can come some other ti-”

 _Oh fucking fuck. **Fuck**_. Fuck fuck fuck, why didn’t he think of _that?!_

“I can stay here tonight?” That was what came out of Dean’s mouth instead.

Sam relaxed minutely, then replied, “Okay. As long as you don’t call some more strippers and trash the house.”

**-x-**

About five minutes later, as Dean was seeing them off, Sam said to him in a low voice, “I am gonna propose to her, Dean. Tonight. That’s why I didn’t even ask you to come or cancel the reservations. Shit. Shit, man, wish me luck.”

Dean did that. He was elated that his brother was soon going to be an engaged man, but he needed to be engaged in activities too. And very, very soon at that.

Bidding his brother goodbye and wishing him good luck one more time, Dean closed the door. He breathed deeply for a moment, before letting out a whoop.

He knew he was acting childish, but then again, it had been _ages_ since he had had the chair. But well, wanting to get fucked by a chair wasn’t really something children did—so maybe he wasn’t being childish?

He made his way to the guest room. Sam probably left Castiel there. But Dean didn’t find it there. He looked around the house, he looked _everywhere_ , but he didn’t find the chair. At last, when he was sure that Sam and Jess had got rid of it, he found it sitting innocently in the living room, the same place where he had first seen it. Which was so, so creepy, because Dean had _not seen it there earlier._

Still, he had it now, and mulling over things that made his erection flag was not the right thing to do. He walked over to Castiel.

He was about three feet away from the chair when something shot out from the middle of it. Dean cried out, startled, and stumbled back. A low chuckle resounded inside the room, and someone said, “It’s alright, Dean. Don’t move away now. You quite liked it last time.”

His face burned as his eyelashes fluttered as a reflex and he looked down. It was Castiel’s cock sticking out of the chair, and the man/ghost/whatever was right about Dean enjoying it last time. Still, it didn’t make it any less embarrassing, and Dean’s embarrassment was evident in the way he was scuffing the floor with his shoes and not meeting Cas’ eyes. Well, no, Cas’ dick... Wait, what was he meeting? This was so confusing!

He decided to do what he did best. Shimmying off his pants, he slid down to his knees. In one swift movement, Castiel’s cock was in Dean’s mouth and Dean was happily humming away, sucking at the organ with all his might.

He heard a wail-like choking sound, and looked up as he half-expected the man to finally take corporeal form in front of him. God damn it, he _needed_ to see Castiel. Hearing him just wasn’t enough.

But there was no sign of the other man, just sounds of heavy breathing, so Dean got back to his job. He did, however, feel something stroking his head and running through his hair, and he entertained himself with the thought that it was Castiel’s hand.

“Boy, you have no idea what your mouth does to me, what _you_ do to me.”

Dean preened at the praise, cheeks colouring with elation. He sucked harder, and very soon, and the chair was rocking dangerously, and Dean could feel the member hitting the back of his throat at every rocking. Saliva slid out of his mouth, down his chin, and he gasped as he was suddenly held in place by invisible hands.

He couldn’t breathe, he realized, as he was disallowed air. He could feel his vision turning fuzzy, and just as he was about to start thrashing, he was let go and eased back off. He took in a lungful of air, breathing brokenly. Giving himself a few seconds to calm down, he slowly put his lips over Castiel’s dick again. The back of his throat was sore, and he winced a bit as the cock hit it again, but barrelled forth with giving the blowjob it anyway. He wanted it to be as good as he could make it, sore throat be damned.

In a minute, the chair was rocking one last time—almost spasming—and Dean could feel Castiel’s release coating his tongue thickly, some of it escaping through the corner of his mouth. He sat back on his haunches, and looked at the chair-cock.

The erratic movement of the chair gradually slowed down, until it finally stopped. After a few seconds, “That was absolutely stunning, Dean.”

Dean shuddered at the dark voice. It sounded like a verbal orgasm, however funny that thought was. He was sure that if that voice whispered filth into his ear for even five minutes he would be done.

“Get up,” he heard, and obeyed the command. Situating himself on Castiel’s lap again, he squealed as he felt something thick and wet circling his rim, and dipping inside him minutely before withdrawing.

Were those his fingers? Dean looked down, but he could see nothing but Castiel’s dick. As if reading his thoughts, Castiel said, “You’ll only be prepared by my cock, nothing else. Now stay still so I can enjoy this hole.”

 _Holy fuck_ , did Castiel want to _kill_ Dean?! The way he talked was _illegal_.

He tried to keep himself still, but it was difficult, and he squirmed around a few times before Castiel eventually took hold of his hips with his invisible hands and manoeuvred him so that he sank down on the chair-cock.

The feeling of something big in his ass was heaven, and Dean closed his eyes in bliss and leaned his head against the backrest, the way he had done last time. The hair-stroking resumed, and Dean was sure that at one point of time he felt something wet tracing his ear.

Their act this time was slow, and they were both appreciating it quietly, nothing like their frenzied encounter last time. Although Dean was moaning and whimpering from time to time, there was a feeling of serenity in the air.

And then suddenly, Castiel shuffled Dean around and slid into him at a completely different angle, and Dean honest to God _wailed_. He heard that huffy laughter that he had come to associate with Castiel, and he ground down on his cock as revenge. But Castiel just laughed more, and proceeded to fuck Dean like he meant it.

As their motions sped up, Dean was dimly aware that he was mumbling gibberish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was building up to be too much. Any moment now, he was going to come.

He was- he was- oh _God he was going to-_

 _“Cas!_ ” he cried out, and his back arched as spurts of come shot out of his cock to adorn the chair and the wall behind it. He was smart enough—or maybe depraved enough—to look down at where he and Castiel were connected, and it was like watching in slow motion as Castiel’s cock slid in and out of his hole. His skin was red and stretched obscenely over the penis, and he moaned at the sight alone, though it was weak. He was panting shallowly, and—

And Castiel came. He came and came and came and came and came, however stupid that sounded. Most of it was spurted up into Dean’s ass as the cock inside it throbbed, but then Castiel ripped Dean off of his dick. Ignoring the green eyed man’s cry of protest, he continued to paint his hole and butt cheeks with his come. It clung to his hole, and as it clenched and unclenched, some of it dribbled out of him too.

Dean slumped against Castiel, head lolling forward and hitting the backrest with a slight thump. He was too tired, and he couldn’t stay upright anymore. He felt like he was swaying, but his eyes were already fluttering shut for him to notice anything.

About ten minutes later, he cracked open his eyes. A hand—was it a hand? Oh well, whatever, he was going to assume that it was—stroked his back, and he was gently lifted up and turned around. Suddenly hit by a cold wind to his front, he shivered, trying to curl in on himself.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, “Baby, go clean up. Your brother could be back any time now.”

Dean nodded. However unfeeling Castiel sounded, he was right. Dean was not keen on facing Sam like that. He stood up on wobbly legs, and stumbled slightly, holding himself up against the wall. His left leg was completely numb, and his joints were aching from the strenuous activity he had participated in.

“Oh, and Dean?” he heard, and turned around to look at the black chair, “If it isn’t too much to ask, clean me up too?”

Oh, yeah, of course. Shit, _of course_ Dean was supposed to remove any evidence of what had transpired in the living room. Not gracing the request with a response, he set to work.

Five minutes later, he had redressed. Not bothering with a shower, he had chosen to just put those clothes back on and shower in the safety of his own house. Having cleaned Castiel with a rag that he had found, and then disposing of it, he stood in front of the chair. Uncertainty was rolling off of him in waves. He didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to pretend that Castiel didn’t exist, now that they had both got what they wanted?

“Dean,” he heard, but refused to look at the chair. It wasn’t as if Castiel would know, right?

“Mh?” he hummed, signifying his interest in the conversation, although he was still upset.

He shrieked as he was suddenly dragged back by an invisible force, right on top of the chair.

“What the _fuck_ , man?!” he exclaimed.

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“No,” Dean replied. He tried to sound nonchalant, but it sounded frail, even to his own ears. It was obvious that he was upset.

“Let me tell you a story,” Castiel said.

“Once upon a time, there was a chair. It was an innocent chair, but then came a spirit. Well, it wasn’t really a spirit; it was a soul, somewhat. It was without a vessel, you see, and so, it decided to inhabit the chair. The spirit had the ability to possess whatever object it wanted. It chose the chair because it wanted human contact, and it was easiest to receive it if it was a chair. It could obviously flit around in the objects, but he preferred the chair. Now, I’m not the best storyteller, and you have probably figured that out, but you know the reason I’m telling you this?”

Dean shook his head, before voicing out, “No.”

Castiel laughed in that breathy manner again, and said, “It was me, boy. I’m the spirit of the chair.”

“Oh... Okay?” Dean said. He didn’t know how to react to that. Was he supposed to be shocked? Scared? Happy that Castiel had possessed the furniture? What was he supposed to feel?

“So,” Dean said into the air, still feeling stupid for talking to someone he couldn’t even see. “You mean to say that you can move around and live in whatever you want? Like, you can actually even inhabit a cell phone? Or, a fridge? A blanket? Anything?”

When he heard Castiel’s agreement, he blurted out, “Can I take you home then?”

“Of course,” came the reply, and Dean flushed with happiness, “As long as you let me possess an object that you won’t lose on your way back home. Otherwise you might never find me.”

Dean took of his ring, slid off the chair and put it on the furniture gingerly like an offering.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air around the chair rippled, and the ring rolled, as if directed to do so by a supernatural force. Then everything was silent.

“Castiel?” Dean asked, tentative.

Just then the doorbell rang. Dean startled, and pocketed his ring. He was too spooked to slide it on his finger at the moment. He got up, and walked to the door. Opening it, he came face to face with his brother and his soon to be sister-in-law if the way she was smiling and the ring she was wearing was any indication. He smiled at them both, a bit shakily, but neither of them noticed, since they were obviously elated at the moment and perhaps a bit drunk.

He helped them get situated, congratulated them when they broke the news, and played the part of happy older brother the best he could, while he was still sweaty with sex and sticky with come under his clothes.

Afterwards, when they were ready to go to sleep, he decided to bid them goodbye. Walking out of their house, he took a few steps before putting his hand in his pocket. Digging into it, he pulled out the ring.

It didn’t suddenly start dancing around on his hand. It didn’t spin to inaudible music. It also didn’t magically change colour. It did nothing.

But it did glint in the moonlight, and looking at it, Dean was hit with the feeling of safety and warmth, the feeling of _home_. It spread through him, warming him from the inside.

In the chilly air, he smiled, and slid the ring onto his finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #1  
> Okay y’all are horrible for my self-abstinence. I was talking to ~~Smutaeru~~ Setaeru about how I ended up thinking of a multi-chaptered fic with this plot. Only thing is, it’s gonna be an angsty-mystery-ish thing. So either you let me leave it at this as a smutty two-or-three-shot, or you get a long fic which is angsty AF—it’s your choice. ;) Let me know what you thought of this chapter. :D  
>  #2  
> Also did you know that I really love writing and I would love to write something you guys wanted me to write? :D So you can hit me up at [my ask](fancythingsandgossamerwings.tumblr.com/ask) and prompt the shit out of me whenever you want. :D  
> #3  
> I'll be a bit busy the following few months so don't expect any quick updates lol.


	3. Pen and Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean kept squirming, and put a hand in his pocket, but the phone was too damn slippery. He bit back a frustrated cry, tears prickling lightly at his eyes. Castiel was taking this too far. What if someone got to know?!_
> 
> _It was getting to be too much. The pleasure was building—kept building—was a bit too high right now—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, I'm not going to be here much. That's because I opened my laptop today and it broke. I will have to give it in for repairs. :( But I updated this which counts for something, right? :P
> 
> Hope you all like this. Let me know if there are any mistakes, etc. :)

Dean woke up the next day, excited but not remembering why. His eyes were not willing to open, and the sunlight was streaming in brightly. He threw a hand at the nightstand, blindly groping it to look for his phone. Feeling the gadget under his hand, he picked it up and squinted at the screen.

8:30 am.

_What the fuck?!_

Had he forgotten to set an alarm the previous night? He probably had, having been excited from his return— _oh_. Yes, he had.

_Shit_ . In his elation of getting to take Castiel home, and being tired as heck because of all the strenuous activity he had partaken in, he had completely forgotten that he had work the following day.

And now he was late. Work started at 9 am, and he was usually in the office by 8:40, nodding hello to his co-workers, generally being sociable, and nice, and polite.

But now he had to take a shower, fix a breakfast, do loads of other things, and get there in time. And it usually took him about twenty minutes to get ready. _Fuck_.

He leapt out of bed, briefly stumbling when his foot caught on the blanket and almost brought him down on the floor. Cursing, he walked out of his bedroom.

About fifteen minutes later, he was a well dressed CEO, shovelling pop tarts into his mouth with the speed of a gazelle. Glancing at the clock in his living room, he cursed again—at this rate he was going to become a cursor on a desktop, he snorted at his own bad joke—as the minute hand moved to 57.

_Fuck_ , he thought, _I shouldn’t have forgotten to set the alarm._

He washed down his “breakfast” with a glass of milk, and picked up his bag, careful not to disturb the papers inside. Finally walking out of his apartment, he locked the door, shoved the key in his pocket, and waited for the elevator.

It was only when he was in the elevator that he realized the problem.

Mrs. Goodwin, his elderly—and in his opinion, very nosy—neighbour who had got in the elevator with him asked him, “Finally decided to stop wearing it, Mr. Winchester?”

He was confused for a moment, but when she glanced down pointedly at his index finger, he realized. He wasn’t wearing the ring. Whoopsies, looked like Castiel was going to stay at home today.

But that wasn’t the trouble. The thing was: the ring had been given to him by Lisa when they had got married, and while they had separated amicably and thus kept wearing each other’s rings, his neighbours still pitied him. And they thought that he was a poor loveless asshole.

Lisa had discovered that she was aromantic, and Dean—too submissive for her. They just hadn’t seen the point of continuing their relationship, and had gotten divorced. They did, however, continue to wear the rings, not because they still considered each other husband and wife—God, no—but because it was a sign of their friendship. It was also why he had shifted it to his index from his ring finger.

But Mrs. Goodwin didn’t know that. Actually, no, she _did_ know it, she just chose not to believe it.

He pretended that he wasn’t affected, though, and replied, “Oh, shit, silly me. I left it on my nightstand!”

She smiled as he continued, “Excuse me, I got a ring to go wear!” and speed-walked out of the elevator.

He could have chosen to not go, but if Mrs. Goodwin could ask him that, so could the work people, surely.

Annoyed at the world—because it was three minutes past nine now, he unlocked the door and stormed inside his apartment. Picking up the ring from the nightstand, he glanced at it for a moment, before gulping and sliding it over his finger.

 _Was he fingering Castiel?_ Went through his head briefly, but he shut down that train of thought.

**-x-**

It was only when he was in the elevator of his workplace that he realized he looked way more harried than he wanted to. But it wasn’t his fault. Dean liked to be punctual and he was seventeen minutes late. Thankfully the taxi that he had hauled had taken pity on him and drove quickly, otherwise he’d probably have reached even later.

As the elevator dinged, he took a deep breath and then walked out.

Becky waved to him and sang out through the empty reception, “Hi, Mr. Winchester, nice to see you! How are you? And,” she leaned forward as if it was a huge secret, “why are you late today?”

Dean flushed. Yes, he was forty minutes later than his usual time. But actually it was just 20 minutes after his work was supposed to start, right?

Mumbling out a hello and dodging the questions, Dean hastily made his way to his room.

As he was about to open the door, Raphael, his... colleague of lower but almost equal status?... stopped him. Dean internally sighed. Raphael was an annoying man who disliked him solely because he had not been appointed to Dean’s position—the CEO. Dean never told him how it was only because Michael Engel—the bossiest of the bosses—had been a stripper at the club Dean had worked in. Uh, no, _exotic dancer_ , that was what the _respectable_ man liked to be referred as back in his poley days.

As Raphael blabbed on about mundane stuff, Dean rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. When he was finally free, he literally whooped with joy and dashed inside his office room.

Closing his door, he walked over to his swivel chair and plopped down on it.

“Chair sweet chair,” he breathed out, whistling, before freezing.

Fuck, Castiel had been a chair once.

As if sensing that he had been thought about, the ring on Dean’s finger moved. Dean watched fascinated, as the thing _squirmed_.

“Would you like to take me off? It’s a bit uncomfortable.”

Dean flushed, that voice was never going to stop making him aroused. Castiel’s familiar chuckle filled the air as Dean slipped him off his finger and placed him on his table.

“You have the sweetest reactions, boy,” Castiel paused, as if thinking of something, then continued, “Tell me, what do you feel about cock rings?”

Dean choked on his spit, coughing for a minute before calming himself down. He stared at Castiel, but of course it didn’t make a difference. Castiel was laughing again—almost cackling this time—and Dean’s face was a fetching shade between red and pink.

He still answered, because dammit, he wanted Castiel to react too (though he had a sinking suspicion that it would take a lot to get the chair—fuck, no, ring—wait, no, it was better to call him a spirit—embarrassed), “Mmh, I can’t say that I haven’t tried it before... But I also can’t say that I’m particularly opposed to it.”

Out of reflex, he winked at the end of the confession, before realizing how dumb that might have looked if someone would have poked their head into the room. It was a good thing the door was locked.

Castiel let out a snort-like sound, and Dean watched fascinated as the ring rolled around as if being acted upon by an invisible force—which Castiel was.

“So maybe I’ll get into your pants sooner than I thought.” Castiel chuckled, and Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Cas, totally, you haven’t done that before. _Totally_ believable.”

“Cas?” the spirit asked, and Dean nodded and said, “Yeah...?” before realizing that _oh,_ he wasn’t supposed to be nicknaming the chair. No, _spirit_ , goddammit. Still, who the fuck cared?

“You call me boy all the time. It’s only fair that I get to call you something too.”

“Oh, _boy_ ,” Castiel crooned, and Dean—fucking hell, was he insatiable when it came to Castiel—blushed for the millionth time. It wasn’t just the ‘boy’ thing, Castiel’s _voice made him lose control_. It was almost as if Dean had a voice kink, specifically for the spirit.

What Castiel said next made Dean do no less than choke on his spit. “You can call me master.”

_Holy fucking shit, how kinky could a **chair** be?!_

That’s it. Dean was going to call Castiel a chair, physical form be damned. Here Dean was, sitting and trying to be fucking considerate about the so-called spirit and here sat the spirit, making comments that earned him a really fucking high place on kinkiest-and-dommiest-people ever. It wasn’t fair.

Castiel laughed some more, and said, “It’s fine, Dean, it’s fine. I was just surprised. Pleasantly surprised, though. It’s been ages since I’ve interacted back and forth with a human.”

“Really?” Dean asked, curious, “when was the last time?”

For a moment, there was no sound in the room. Even the fans seemed to slow down. Dean was about to open his mouth and wave away the question, worried that he had somehow upset Castiel, but the spirit replied, “You just want to know how many boys and girls I’ve had over my lap, don’t you?”

Dean groaned, and raised up his middle finger. Castiel seemed to have a knowledge of the gestures Dean made, even without having any eyes (well, a ring with eyes was creepy—he was going to assume that Cas was eyeless), and he knew that the message would be delivered to the spirit.

It was, and Castiel started guffawing, and Dean soon joined him. And the topic was successfully skirted around.

**-x-**

It was only during lunch that things went funny.

Dean had gone down to the cafeteria to get himself food, and not feeling like standing there and talking to all the people, he had gone back to his room.

It was hot, and the AC had unexpectedly broken down, and a fan wasn’t enough to combat the heat waves.

“Fuck,” he said out loud, “Why is the cooling not fucking there?!”

Castiel rasped a laugh, and Dean suspected that even he was getting affected by the heat, since he didn’t crack a perverted joke for once. He did, however say, “Let me see if I can do something about it.”

Dean raised his head from where he had dropped it on his desk, between his hands, and looked at Castiel, “Really? What can you do?”

Castiel huffed, and Dean realized that he had been offended. Dean started to apologize (he was such a doormat) but then Castiel said, “Just switch the thing off for a minute.”

Dean got up from his chair, and flipped the switch. He waited for the blades of the fan to stop moving before announcing it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air rippled—the way it had done in Sam’s house last night—and Dean watched as the fan swished gently, and then started back up on its own.

Dean gasped, and let out a—frankly girly—shriek, “Cas, what the _fuck?_ ”

There was a slow sound of laughter, and Dean realized it was coming from _all around him_.

At length, Castiel spoke, “It’s better now, isn’t it?”

At Dean’s dumb nod, he continued (how the heck did he even know Dean had nodded?!), “So then shut your mouth and appreciate me, boy.”

Dean giggled slightly—it was funny!—before smothering the sound. It was true though, it was _way_ cooler inside the room. He wanted to crack a joke about how the only Castiel’d be appreciated would be if Dean had his mouth closed around Cas’ dick, but he chose to keep it to himself. Castiel would probably come up with something worse and leave him blushing for the twenty or so minutes he had left of his break time.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said, and sat down to dig into his salad. _Fucking Sam and his insistence on Dean eating salad once a month._ He wouldn’t even know if Dean did, but of course Dean was a good brother who wanted to follow the rules. He followed the rules for _everyone_. Why, take Castiel for an example!

After twenty minutes, just when Dean was hurrying to get out of the room, with a bottle lodged between his chin and shoulder, he heard a curt voice call out, “Dean, please take me with you.”

It was worded like a request, but it was nothing but a demand. Dean grinned, and replied, “Or what?”

He knew that if anyone were to pass by, they’d see him talking to the air, but he didn’t really care. He did, however, wish that he hadn’t stood there when Cas said the next thing, “Or I’ll fuck you so much that you won’t have any energy left.”

Dean gulped, a flush situating itself on his cheeks, and he scowled as he dug out a pen from his pocket. Aiming it at his desk, he threw it. Gesturing to it—Dean supposed Castiel somehow had the ability to see gestures, which would explain why Dean was always unable to fool him—he said, “That. You can use that.”

Castiel said thanks, and there was the telltale ripple of his movement.

Checking the time again, Dean cursed, and walked briskly to his desk and picked up his pen. Then, walking out, he shut the door behind himself, and made his way to the board room.

There was some sort of a meeting, and as Dean opened the room and looked inside, all activity ceased. He blushed as he made his way to his seat. As a CEO he shouldn’t be late to such things. He knew everyone was watching him, and as he caught Michael’s eye, he almost stumbled. The man winked, and wiggled his eyebrows, and Dean thought, _of fucking course, he’s probably spending time with that Gabriel guy_.

Dean pulled his chair out, and grimaced as it squeaked against the polished tiles, and sat down. He had a fleeting thought about how Castiel could get into the chair, but he hoped not. He also thought that a chair moving would garner suspicion.

Thankfully, Castiel did no such thing, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. The meeting began, and went on smoothly.

At least, for the first thirty minutes.

It was when Dean’s phone vibrated that he frowned. He had put it on silent so that no one would be disturbed, and he _knew_ that Sam or Jess usually didn’t call at this time, because they themselves had work. He didn’t know many other people.

He chose to ignore it, concentrating as Mark outlined something.

It vibrated again though, and Dean was surprised to find that it was definitely more closer to his ass cheek than it had been a moment ago. That was weird...

He crossed his legs, leaning forward, trying to look interested.

It was when the damn machine vibrated for the _third time_ , and under his _hole_ , that he realized—

Castiel had possessed it.

 _Fuck_.

Stunned, Dean gripped the edge of the table as his phone continued moving. Raphael glared at him, and Dean managed a weak smile, trying to look like he always did with Raphael—annoyingly friendly—and he sighed out in relief as the man looked away.

His relief was short-lived, since Castiel suddenly decided to up the ante, and Dean’s phone _honest to god_ let out a buzzing sound loud enough to stop Mark in the middle of his sentence. Everyone looked around, while discretely checking their own phones, to see if they were the culprit, but no, it was just Castiel.

Dean could do nothing but grip the table with both hands then, and watch as his knuckled turned white. Sweat was beading on his temple, and then he whimpered.

It was quiet, but in the large room, it was like a horn. Martha next to him asked him if he was alright, and Dean weakly replied, “Yes, ma’am, I am completely fine.” To Mark he said, “Sorry, not the best of days today. Continue, please, don’t stop on my behalf.”

Michael spoke up, “Mr. Winchester, are you sure? We don’t want to compromise your health.”

Dean loved the guy, he really did, but right now, his concern did nothing but irk Dean. He wasn’t interested in being put in the spotlight while there was a phone buzzing away in his back pocket while somehow against his asshole, and he really was not interested in _anyone realizing it_.

“I am fine, really.” Dean said, and smiled tightly. Michael nodded, uncertainly, before putting on the professional mask again. Clearing his throat, Dean looked at Mark, and the junior began again.

It wasn’t any use though. The quiet and concentrated mood of the meeting was already destroyed, and moments later, Dean could see some of them murmuring amongst themselves.

Dean kept squirming, and put a hand in his pocket, but the phone was _too damn slippery_. He bit back a frustrated cry, tears prickling lightly at his eyes. Castiel was taking this too far. What if someone got to know?!

It was getting to be too much. The pleasure was building—kept building—was a bit too high right now—

“Let’s do this some other day, yes?” rang out Michael’s voice, and Dean had never loved him more than now.

Agreement rang out in the room. “Yes, Mr Engel, I suppose we’re not too invested right now. I mean no offence, but these issues need to be addressed when everyone is attentive.” and she side-eyed Dean so hard that his lips twitched up in an involuntary, nervous smile.

He nodded, and clearing his throat, said, “Yes, another day.”

Everyone began dispersing, and as the last few people picked up their papers and someone turned off the projector, Michael walked around the table and stopped near him.

_Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck was going to happen now?!_

“Dean,” he said in a low voice, not willing to let others hear him call Dean by his name, but also not willing to be so formal with his friend, “Are you fine?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, say that _no, he was totally fine except for the magical phone in his pants_ , but Michael went on, “You’re never like this. And I’m not your superior when I say this. I say it as a friend. And Dean,” this time he leaned forward with a dirty grin, and Dean automatically braced himself for something embarrassing. He was not disappointed.

“You look like you used to back when I used to fuck you for everyone’s pleasure.”

It was also the instant when Castiel amped himself up a bit more, and Dean flat out gasped, clutching the table and thumping his head on it.

Michael cackled, thinking that Dean was embarrassed by what he said and too aghast to say anything, but it wasn’t that.

Dean was shaking and breathing hard, trying to control himself. Biting his lip bloody, he was doing anything and everything in his power to not come from Cas’ ministrations.

Michael kept cackling, and walked out of the room with a, “Take care, Winchester.” and Dean only had the energy to glance up wildly to see that he was the only one in the room.

Dropping his head back on the table, he sobbed out, “ _Caaaaaas_ ,” and heard the spirit’s trademark chuckle.

His fingers were sliding of the table—he was sweating _that_ much—and he had abandoned all inhibitions and was humping the chair, rocking back and forth into it, when Castiel said, “What if I was your chair today?”

Dean was about to say _no_ when his world blanked out. White hot light engulfed his vision, and he was aware that he was screaming out unintelligible words into his fist that he had had the good thought to put over his mouth. (Couldn’t have anyone barging in right now.)

His vision cleared, and he slumped down in his chair, too tired to function. He belatedly realized that his trousers were absolutely _soaked_ with sweat and there was a growing stain on the front of them, but he couldn’t move for the life of him.

He was both strung out and elated, and he just wanted to bask in the after-glory.

It was after a few minutes that he was able to calm his breathing that he set about to make himself look presentable. Ripping out his phone from his pocket, he put it on the table, not even bothering to react to Castiel’s laughter. His face was hot, and while a part of him was as calm as a kitten, because of the orgasm, another part of him was burning with rage. He was really fucking happy and pissed at the same time. And, oh, tired.

Lord bless the architecture, because the room had a bathroom attached to it. He made use of it, running his fingers through his hair to try and make it look presentable and not completely sweat soaked. His pants were a lost cause, but he hoped that his suit jacket would cover most of the damage.

He turned up the fan’s setting to the highest, not even caring if it was cool enough or not, because at that moment, Dean felt like he was in a sauna. Everything was too hot, and even the gentle breeze of the fan was euphoria.

When he was sure he looked at as good as before, excluding his lowers, he went back to the table. His phone was lying innocently on it, as if it hadn’t just brought him to feel the best and the worst sensations ever in a meeting, and he looked at it for a moment, as if sizing up his enemy. He kept waiting for Castiel to do something else.

It took him five minutes to realize that his wariness was very stupid. It was his damn _phone_ , and Castiel wasn’t actually an evil guy. He wouldn’t kill Dean for picking up the phone. Grumbling, he picked it up.

Out of reflex, he slid open the lock and checked the time.

There was a message for him. Curious, he opened it.

_You quiver like paper—a beautiful piece of paper that I’d love to write on._

There was no sender’s information, but it was a message. It was almost as if it was a notification, but.... in Dean’s inbox.

He blushed, wetting his lips, as he realized something. Castiel was telling him that.

And just like that, his annoyance with the spirit was gone. It was like Castiel could do the shittiest things (even though a voice in Dean’s head told him he loved the idea of being publicly sexed up) and still Dean would like him. Because of these small things of Castiel, his suave nature, just—the way Cas conducted himself. Yes, it was creepy that Castiel had introduced himself to Dean by fucking him in his brother’s house, but these things happened to everyone, right?

...Right?

Dean walked out of the room with a weird smile, eyes glazed from faraway thoughts. _God_ , he was so gone over Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full fuckin’ credit to Setaeru for “Michael Engel” or whatever the spelling was. Or maybe it’s from the fic I read ages ago that has nine chapters and had Castiel Engell and Dean in panties and omega stuff which I lurrrrved? (It was such an amazing fic!!!!!!!!) Eh, either way it’s not mine. XD
> 
> “voice kink” throwing this out to Set because she totally ought to write about Castiel talking to Dean about completely innocent things and unknowingly making the worst innuendos ever and Dean just nearly coming. Amiright or amiright?!?!???!?! DUDE.
> 
> And I have one more word for you: CACKLING.


	4. Shut up (and sleep with me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As his fingers felt around his hole, he continued his sloppy handjob, working his fingers over his cock, his hold loose and tight in all the right places. He moved his other hand over his entrance, and a bolt of heat shot through him at how tender it felt. He almost cried when the muscle opened up with little resistance. Honestly, it felt like he had just got off of a dick, and fuck if it didn’t make him all the more desperate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exam 2morrow. Study 4 exam. Shud not write p0rn. But brain break. Heart ache. P0rn help. Write p0rn. Post p0rn.  
> .... Robot speak.
> 
> YO PLS LET ME KNOW IF THERE ARE ANY INCONSISTENCIES OR WHATEVER.
> 
> THE PLOT THICKENS!! well mostly porn right now but we're gonna get to the plot real soon. :D YAAAAAAAAAAY

In the evening, Dean went home with Cas.

It seemed that Castiel had decided for the time being to be quiet and not disturb Dean. Any other time he’d have appreciated it, but now he just felt sad and cold. After that spectacular orgasm and that spectacular realization that Cas was one amazing son of a gun, he didn’t expect him to be “radio silent.”

...That was the phrase, wasn’t it?

He huffed, and pulling it out of this finger, he dropped the ring on his nightstand, Cas and all. Let the spirit stay there. It’s not like he was interested in talking to Dean in the first place.

Walking into his kitchen, he set about making dinner.

Only when he had set the table for himself (just because he lived alone doesn’t mean he could laze around and eat on the couch; food crumbs were disgusting and hard to clean) and begun eating, did he think of something.

 _‘Does Cas eat?’_ he scrunched up his nose, confused and curious. He almost got up, but then remembered that he was mad at the spirit. And anyway, in the time he had known the spirit, he had never once seen him eat. He probably acquired his nutrition from some other means.

He sat down, and resolutely didn’t move his butt around till he was done with dinner. Afterwards, he put the dishes in the washer and let the machine do its work.

“What now,” he said out loud, “Call Sammy up?”

He nodded to himself, he’d do that.

Putting the dishes in the dishwasher, he went to call Sam.

It was while he was talking to Sam did his fall on the washing machine near the dishwasher, and suddenly his brain was filled with bad thoughts.

 _“-Dean?”_  Sam’s voice floated into his ear, and he responded with a strangled _yes_. _“I asked you if you know what happened to that old chair in our house.”_

Dean’s hands turned clammy as he stuttered, “W-what?”

Sam sighed, _“When we got here it was just an old piece of rickety furniture, but since yesterday it’s just... I don’t know. Do you ever get the feeling that there are some invisible people around and when they leave, you feel alone for the first time? I mean—I don’t—I don’t know how to explain it but it just seems like everything’s gone quiet all of a sudd—”_

Dean cut him off with a shaky laugh, which he hoped sounded disbelieving enough. “What’re you talking about, Sammy? Are you sure you haven’t been watching horror movies again? You know how bad they are for you.”

Sam’s bitchface was _audible_. _“Why do I even bother with you? I’m hanging up, jerk.”_

Dean’s loving _bitch_ was cut off by the disconnection of the call. Staring first at his phone and then at the ceiling, he sighed. Sam was too smart sometimes.

He got up, ready to check on the progress of the dishes, when— _damn_ —when his eyes landed on the washing machine again.

How would it feel if Castiel fucked him on it? Or, how would it feel if _Castiel was the machine?_ Those vibrations sliding all over his body as he held onto it for dear life, making him delirious with need for an invisible touch.

And Cas would give it to him, wouldn’t he, while also withholding any touch? The spirit was an asshole that way, aiming to push all of Dean’s buttons and subject him to the sweetest torture. Honestly, Dean couldn’t wait for the day when—

 _No!_ He was _not_ ready for another escapade with Cas. He was _mad_ at the spirit, goddamnit!

He glared at his dick, and said organ only looked back at him triumphantly through his pants at having disobeyed him and risen.

What the fuck was even going through his head? It was as if Castiel had upturned his life the moment he met him. He had, in a way.

Well, whatever be the case, he would _not_ go to the spirit for sex right now. He was supposed to stay mad at the man, and thinking about getting fucked by him was not the right thing to do.

Still... he could masturbate, and it wasn’t as if he had a curfew or a fixed bedtime. He lived alone. Instead of doing it while he showered, he could very well jerk off on the machine.

Damn, but it wasn’t vibrating.

Never mind, he’d just do it without vibrations.

Heart pounding, he made his way to his machine, and sat down with his back against it. Spreading his legs, he stared at his palms for a moment before letting out a tiny laugh. He was really going to do this. Dean Winchester was going to jerk off against something that he used to wash the clothes that got dirtied when he jerked off. Oh god, putting it that way sounded like the machine got jizz on it both inside and outside, one way or another.

He needed a drink.

What if Cas found him like this?

He expected himself to be scared by the thought, but he surprised himself by involuntarily moaning. Oh, who knew he was a kinky fucker into exhibitionism? No one, apparently.

Fed up with his own fragile flower bullshit, he tugged his pants down his legs. Ah, freedom; the thing a man felt when his trapped dick sprang free.

Not wearing any underwear—he had decided not to after he had gotten home and changed out of his come stained clothes—it was easy for him to grasp his dick the moment it came out to say hi.

It was hot to touch, and he let out a breath as he lightly fisted it. Spitting on his hand, he pumped it slowly.

 _God_ , handjobs were one of his favourite sex acts. Heck, sex was one of his favourite acts, who was he kidding.

By now he had developed a slow but steady rhythm. When the first drop of precome slid down his shaft, he swiped it up with his fingers, bringing the digits up to his mouth before—was he really going to do this? Oh god yes he was really going to do this—capturing them between his lips, sucking on them slightly. He moaned as some saliva trailed down his lips and fell onto his cock, effectively making his hand’s movement easier.

Fuck it, he thought, as he removed his hand from his dick and shoved almost his entire fist into his mouth, tasting his precome and making sure the glide would be nice.

Taking himself into his hand again, he was satisfied to know that it slid a lot easier in his hand now. It lessened the friction, but he wasn’t a fan of chafed dicks.

The peak was getting closer now, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he flicked his thumb over his head.

There was a puddle of various—questionable—fluids, sliding off his thighs onto the ground, and his hips bucked up when he watched it grow.

His only thought as he coated his fingers in it and brought them to his hole was that he was a seriously depraved human with desperate tendencies.

Eh, he blamed Cas.

(Let it not be said that Dean Winchester was a huge fan of boasting his proficiency in the sex field until Castiel came along.)

As his fingers felt around his hole, he continued his sloppy handjob, working his fingers over his cock, his hold loose and tight in all the right places. He moved his other hand over his entrance, and a bolt of heat shot through him at how tender it felt. He almost cried when the muscle opened up with little resistance. Honestly, it felt like he had just got off of a dick, and fuck if it didn’t make him all the more desperate.

And to think, it wasn’t even a dick, and it wasn’t even recent. It was Cas and it was about three hours back, and he was still so loose because of that mind blowing orgasm he’d achieved back at the office.

He really was a slut for Castiel.

His mouth fell open as his finger brushed over his prostate, and he half mewled, half screamed as he began coming, long spurts shooting out of his dick that just wouldn’t stay under control and deposit everything at one fucking place.

His hand slipped off his cock and he awkwardly ripped his other hand out of his ass as he slumped down further, the washing machine moving perhaps an inch due to the force applied on it.

Ah, the washing machine. The thing that started it all.

Like everything to do with Cas, an incredulous laugh bubbled out of his throat and left him shaking. He shuddered, both with the cold on his uncovered bits and the realization of what he had just done.

Gotten off against a washing machine because he wanted Cas to possess it? The fuck was wrong with his libido?

He wiped away the sweat on his forehead, then grimaced as he remembered he used the hand that had been in his ass. Whatever, his ass his face.

Exhaling, he turned his head back and closed his eyes for a few minutes. Then he looked at the floor.

Staring at the white fluid adorning said floor, he had the bizarre urge to get it inside him; lap it all up, or, worse, shove it all up in his ass.

He actually squeaked out loud at how perverted he could be. He _totally_ blamed Castiel for it.

Castiel...

Oh crap, the spirit was upstairs.

Did he—oh gosh. Dean hoped that Cas had not found out about his freaky activities.

Wanting to bask in his post orgasm haze, but knowing that it would only delay the inevitable, he got up to clean up his mess. Oh, and put away the dishes that were surely cleaned by now.

\--

As he opened his bedroom door, he nervously peeked inside before sighing at his stupidity and walking inside. He knew Castiel didn’t own him—the thought totally didn’t make him shudder with pleasure—but doing what he had done somehow made him feel that Cas would be disappointed.

He could imagine the spirit asking _‘am I not enough for you, Dean? Do I not fuck you well enough?’_

He supposed that his libido really was fucked up, since even _imaginary spirits_ made him horny. Let’s not even get to the real ones.

“Dean?”

He jumped, “Dammit, Cas! Ya can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

He heard Castiel huff out a laugh before the spirit replied, “My apologies, Dean. I just thought that being as sensitive as you are right now, you’d have caught my presence.”

Dean’s face went red as a fire truck—was that even the right analogy—as he sputtered. “Shut up!” he eventually settled on, “Anyway, what are you even possessing now?”

“This blanket. I’ve noticed that its texture is exotic, and I’d quite like to hold you in my arms while you sleep.”

And while Dean rarely used said blanket, choosing to just leave it at the foot of his bed, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the spirit that. He smiled softly, face a bit red as the words sunk into his head.

Damn but Cas really was one smooth motherfucker.

He walked to his bed and plopped down on it, having finished up everything. “Cas, buddy, if you don’t mind, can we just sleep tonight? Without doing anything sexual?”

Castiel hummed, replying, “I wasn’t really going to initiate anything. You have already satisfied your urges, and I, quite surprisingly, am feeling tired. Perhaps I need sleep after having been awake for so long.”

Judging by the way he spoke, he obviously hadn’t intended for Dean to hear the last sentence, so the human pretended not to have heard him. Instead, he flicked the light switches by his beside, plunging his room into darkness as he laid on his side.

“Cas?” he mumbled, and the spirit let out a sound to know that he was listening. “Sam called me and talked to me about how he’s been feeling the absence of a certain something’s presence. How did Sam know there was something weird once you left?”

Castiel’s sigh was so resigned that for a moment Dean thought that he had upset the spirit, but the other man only said, “I don’t know, Dean. And trust me, even if I knew you wouldn’t want to know it.”

“No,” Dean said, but it was too inaudible, lost in the sounds of the ceiling fan and the city outside, as Dean drifted off to sleep, clutching the blanket—Castiel—close to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....Cas as a blanket is so cute tho.
> 
> Pls don’t tell anyone that I write /shitty/ porn. Soz for the tiny chapter (wanted to write 4k but only shat out 2k) but as I said I have an exam tomorrow. Got rejected by da pretty boy whose birthday happened to be the day I last updated this fic, and I just HAD to do something to take my mind off it. (Don’tcha worry, the Bottle™ I dedicate half my fics to is a hella nice human who comforted the fuck out of me.) :D ...As always, over sharing. Tut tut tut what would people say, Fancy? Answer: they'd say shut up, but not sleep with me :'D

**Author's Note:**

> Nope, nope, this is not me. I did not write such a shameless thing. I am totally not embarrassed right now. I totally don’t want to run away and hide. Oh my god this sucked so much and it- oh god why did I write this. Totally not hyperventilating about how depraved I am. My brain. OH ymg osff what is this.
> 
> I don't even have any excuse for writing this. Fuck my life.
> 
> [If you're bored, so am I, and this is my Tumblr, and even he is bored.](http://fancythingsandgossamerwings.tumblr.com) Yes, my Tumblr is a he, fuckin' fight me.  
> ...Please don't fight me, I'm a very weak person. I was just rhyming.


End file.
